


Bring Me To Life

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Axetale, Crossover, Dirty Talk, F/M, NSFW, Oral, Revenant AU, Rough Sex, finding love again, fix you, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 01:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: Finding himself in this world in the first place was enough of a surprise. Finding her there was another. Was it really a second chance for him? Did he deserve one?





	Bring Me To Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fix you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222694) by [Kimchigurlie27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimchigurlie27/pseuds/Kimchigurlie27), [Zemiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zemiki/pseuds/Zemiki). 



> Hey guys~ this is... something you all might not be familiar with. It's a crossover AU that I formed with my friends, between Axetale and my friend's mirrored version of the universe, written in the fanfic Fix You (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222694/chapters/32790075). We had a private story going for it for awhile, something that I was considering doing formally once I finished one of mine, and wrote this up as a commission about 8 months ago and... completely forgot to post it XD so here it is lol. I hope you like it, I really enjoy it myself.

* * *

The evening sun set over the city of Ebott, casting into shadow the laughter of children on the way back to their homes, the lines of trees swaying in the gentle breeze... the mountain that loomed over the surrounding countryside, a silent omen of neither good nor ill.

The front windows of suburban houses and dusty, summer hot cars glowed in the dying light, blinding passers by should they catch the reflection at the wrong moment, and from one of such windows, expression grim and cracked face creased with worry and anxiety, stared a skeleton monster, his uneven, candescent sockets fixed on the foothills of the mountain in the distance from under the cover of his furred hood.

His clawed phalanges tapped, one, two, three, four, on the sill of the window he glared out, his other hand flexing, as though missing the comforting presence of a well worn object.

From the darkened background, an exasperated sigh, punctuated by the shifting of a blanket and the dull release of the closing of a book's cover.

“Sans, sit _down_. They're fine,” a soft, feminine voice called out to the anxious monster, but he didn't move from his spot at the window beyond glancing down at the cellular phone set beside him on the sill, its screen mirroring back at him his own moody visage.

He pressed the button on the side, only to frown more deeply at the information he already knew wasn't there. No new messages, but one from Toriel (likely one of her jokes, an attempt to rekindle their old friendship). No missed calls.

 _Nothing_.

“they haven't called. they said they'd call when they got there-” he huffed in ill temper, turning again to his displeased perusal of the side of the mountain, and behind him, from over the back of the large sectional couch she had been spread out on, Frisk cast him a quelling, plaintive look, her smile crooked and understanding.

“They're with both Papyruses and Undyne. They probably forgot, with all the fun they're having. _Please_ relax. That's what this whole weekend was supposed to be about, remember?” she pressed, putting aside the book she had been reading and sitting up straighter against her cushions (she had been less ill, of late, which was a blessing, but at times her strength still failed her, requiring bedrest and less mobility), and Sans, from his post, cast her a deadpan glance from the corner of his whole socket, his blue iris conveying his reluctance and poor coping skills, the fear of the unknown he had just let his child wander into.

They'd both known it was going to be difficult, to let their daughters leave them for even this short weekend, no matter the supervision they had, nor their own insistence. Frisk had far more practice, of course, her support system fully intact, should she need a break from the difficulties of motherhood. Sans... was not handling things as well.

Frisk shook her head indulgently at his behavior (she'd figured he would be like this... how could he not be? It was the first time Aliza had been away from him for more than a few hours since they'd found each other in his terrible world), and beckoned him away from the shaded, ever darker window, patting the space beside her on the couch and moving to reach for the television remote.

“Come on, enough moping. Let's watch a movie,” she insisted, flicking the indicator on the large TV screen over to Netflix, and though Sans lingered for another long moment beside the window, the shadows stretching ever further as the sun disappeared beyond the mountain range entirely, he gave in to her plea with a stiff shrug of his shoulders and a crack of his jaw, stalking moodily around the couch to flop onto it beside her.

“kay,” he grumped in a clipped monotone, long phalanges turning the cell in his hands over and over in nervous idleness, and crossed one leg over the opposite knee to bounce his foot impatiently. He was unmoved and just as short when she asked what he wanted to watch, so she settled on an old, familiar movie that she wouldn't mind letting fade into the background.

She was more concerned with watching him, after all, the way the light from the corner lamp played across his arms, bared by his rolled up jacket sleeves, the indents and cuts and cracks in his bones.

They were all looking far better than when he had first appeared three months ago, thrust into this world from their own by a mysterious force that none of them had yet discovered; that was thanks, in large part, to his accepting Toriel's help in healing both he and his brother's injuries, accumulated over sixteen years of fighting for their lives in a kill or be killed Underground. The gaping hole in his skull had yet to show any improvement, but her mother insisted it wasn't because of her lack of skill... but his own resistance to allowing it to heal.

At least he had finally given up his death grip on the horrid clothes he had worn in his former life, allowing her to take him shopping for new ones (nothing fancy, of course; he had always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, though he had allowed her to get him a much nicer hoodie to slouch around in), as he had refused to wear any of her husband's old clothes.

It wasn't the only improvement, of course. His gruff demeanor had lessened dramatically, saying nothing of his mental health and his social graces' improvements. She had caught him napping occasionally, on quiet afternoons, when he had before claimed to not have slept for over fourteen years, and laughed far more often. She hadn't even seen the (frankly terrifying) light of his golden iris in weeks, which she always took as a good sign, and the way he cared for not just his brother and his daughter, but her little star as well, spoke volumes.

He'd always been a good caretaker (his family's survival was clear on that subject), but to have him step up so fluidly for Ally...

It touched her heart, more than he could possibly know. She could abide his sometimes too short temper and his need for control in favor of the good.

She let out a quiet huff as the monster, his hood still up and covering most of his face, once again checked his phone, shaking her head and wadding up a Kleenex to throw at him. She missed wildly, landing the tissue on her own foot, but it caught his attention, drawing his gaze back to her.

She made a face at him, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a nearly silent chuckle rumbling in his rib cage.

“what?” he muttered, though he clearly already knew, as he put his phone's screen to sleep and set it aside (at last), and she cast him a bald look, raising one brow and nodding at him, his slouch and his jiggling foot and his raised hood.

“Are you gonna brood all night?” she accused, folding her arms and pouting out her bottom lip just a tad, and the trace of his smile was gone, his face turning away from her, to stare, she knew, blankly at the television screen.

“yes.”

His answer was short and blunt, his visible hand fisting in his lap; she knew he hated to be called out on his fluctuating tempers, especially when he expected her to understand. And she did. She more than understood his anxiety, how deeply he cared about his daughter, his brother... her own daughter.

But this wasn't how she'd been hoping their time together would go in the least.

Frisk turned back to the television as well, sight just as unseeing and her lips clenched, a dam against the tide of her own feelings and wayward emotions.

It was selfish of her, and she knew it, to hope he would concentrate on her, now that they were alone. She had imagined he would be like this at first, but as they spent the afternoon and evening in each other's company, she had thought... she had _wished_ , on the first star of the night for weeks, that he would see her the way she had begun to see him.

It wasn't some vague notion, some passing fancy. A replacement, of all things, never. Sans, though... she had dared to hope that he felt the same as she did, in the smallest hours of the night, when her soul ached and the tears fell unheeded and everlasting. She had dared to dream that the long looks he threw her meant something, that the heat in his gaze and the gravel in his voice was for her alone.

That the morning he had backed her against the kitchen counter and almost kissed her had been more than her wild imagination, as wild as she had thought the look in his sockets was when he had walked in on her showering.

She felt the spark in the air when he looked back into her eyes. The electricity that moved between them when they touched, and the weight that the silence bore when there was nothing left to say, when they sat watching the sun set and the stars come out together.

Or so she thought.

Selfish as she always was, hoping he thought of her when his wife was still so close to his soul. Selfish in her loneliness, wondering if he thought of her as she did of him, when her blood ran hot and the need was too dire.

Selfish... selfish as she was now, as she scooted towards him once more, desperate for even the smallest contact to soothe the beat of her fragile, broken heart.

“...can I touch you?” she whispered, unsure if he would hear her plaintive cry, and though he made no move to acknowledge that he had heard her, though he didn't draw away, as he did with almost everyone that approached him (even his daughter he reacted instinctively to escape from before correcting himself and allowing her close; the only one he had never done that to was Ally, bless his soul), the answer came still, as quiet as her plea.

“...yeah.”

He still did not turn towards her, gaze set on the tv before the both of them, but his hands rose to lower his hood for her, the material shifting whisper soft against the cracked, pitted bone of his cranium. They fell again to lay in his lap, though no longer fisted, but listless and loose, and he didn't flinch when she, with more excitement than she had hoped she would show, scooted against his side entirely, to more easily reach his skull.

He had been unwilling to let her do this for some time, unused to familiar touch after so long without; he had been suspicious and, the first time, had even snapped his jaws at her, as feral as the golden light in his shattered socket.

Eventually, though, he had succumbed, wary but curious, and had drifted off to sleep under her skillful hands, the first she had ever seen from him. She'd known it would be good for him, of course...

Her own husband had always requested it of her.

“ _you got magic fingers, babe. nothing's ever relaxed me more.”_

She sat up fully, the blanket she had been lying under puddling around her legs and Sans' side, to rub her thumbs against the base of his skull, just above his thick vertebrae; a shudder went through his body almost immediately, accompanied by an exhalation and his head falling forward, allowing her better access.

Her smile was small, but victorious, as she rubbed in small circles over the smooth surface of the ossified, ivory plating of his skull, feeling him settle further into the couch beside her, tension and reserve melting from his body. His visible, whole socket was hooded, low and at ease, and within it, his blue magic drifted lazily.

His nearest hand seemed to gravitate towards her, the tips of his clawed phalanges tracing her thigh, bared by her shorts and pressed against the side of his femur.

Frisk tried to pay no attention to that, to the shiver that ran up her spine, and instead focused on her work, massaging her fingertips against the slightly malleable surface of the skeleton monster's skull.

“It's gonna be okay. They have to be independent sometime, right?” she reasoned as she gently rubbed her knuckles against his temples, flushing slightly at the rumble of pleasure that vibrated his bones, and Sans, his fingertips making seemingly unconscious, almost mirrored motions against her knee, let out a heavy sigh, his hooded socket parting to stare at his now still, folded leg.

He shifted it to the ground, at the same moment pushing his leg more fully against hers, his weight moving the couch to press her even closer to his side. Her breasts brushed his arm, the same that trailed its fingers in dips and curves along her flesh, but he seemed not to notice, instead turning his head to meet her eye.

He looked resigned, tired, even, but the magic of his gaze burned brighter than she'd ever seen it.

“...i guess. it's hard to let go, though. spent so long without 'em...” he mused, his free hand reaching up to touch a fingertip to the heart locket around his neck, and she laughed quietly, rearranging the span of her hands to reach the top of his head. He leaned into her touch, the warmth radiating from her body, nearly purring from the contact.

His head was on her shoulder. It was harder to move, like this; one of her arms was trapped behind his head... but she had no inclination to move.

“I know. It's no easier for me, believe me,” she assured him, running the tip of one finger along an old scrape in his skull, trailing from the back of his skull all the way to his brow, and he looked over her expression in silence, for a moment, quiet, restful contemplation in the weight of his magical gaze.

His hand on her thigh tightened reflexively, almost hard enough to be on the edge of pain.

“...it seems like it is. how do you handle it? school, field trips, going to their friends' places... i can't help but think about everything that could go wrong,” he admitted, nervousness and unease lilting on the edge of his words, and Frisk stilled, in her motion and thoughts both, meeting his gaze solidly.

Her hand cupped his cheekbone, thumb grazing the very edge of the shattered hole in his skull.

“I understand. I really do. But this isn't the Underg... the place you were trapped. There are dangers, but they'd suffer more _not_ going out. Not putting their trust in others. We have to let them, prepare them. They're not gonna be here forever, after all,” she urged, and without a moment's hesitation shifted to wrap both arms around his neck, the hug both for him and for herself.

“We have to be strong for them.”

He was stiff, for a moment, a clearly instinctual reaction to her contact with him (she hadn't hugged him since... the day she'd found him on the street, the very day he arrived in their world), but it took no more than a beat for him to reciprocate, his free arm digging under her to wrap around her waist, the hand on her thigh pulling her further into his embrace.

His face turned to bury against her neck, seeking the solace of her affection, and his breath, hot and muggy, brought a flush to her cheeks, her eyes flashing open again, where they had drifted closed. She was so... comfortable. His arms were the same as they'd ever been, far stronger than they appeared... he was missing a rib, she could feel it even through his shirt and jacket, but his chest was just as broad as she rem-

...how had she ended up in his lap?

Frisk looked slowly down at herself, from her continued embrace with the monster now mysteriously under her, her fingers tightening against the back of his cervical vertebrae; thankfully, she hadn't straddled him entirely, just slung one leg across his lap and turned so she was pressed fully to his ribcage. The leg seemed to have been his doing, pulled across his by his grip behind her thigh...

And he seemed to be noticing that as well, if she could tell anything from the way his breath halted completely against her neck, and how his hold on her leg twitched.

Sans, just as slowly as she had, pulled away from her throat to look down at their position, inspecting the tightness of his phalanges against her flesh, the way she was leaned against him, before looking up to meet her eyes.

His expression was inscrutable, carefully blank and passive; hers gave too much away, she knew it did... but despite his stare, she made no move to pull away from him, only digging her fingers into his hood more. She had no desire to be further from him, and he was going to have to outright refuse her to push her away.

Her soul flared with determination further when he seemed to mirror her thoughts, the hand at her waist pressing against her, pulling her closer.

“...frisk...” he breathed quietly, as careful as his cautious expression; she could hear the question in his tone, unasked but there all the same, so she asked it for him, her breath coming in short bursts as her heart thundered in her chest.

“Is this okay? I can move, but...” she began, one hand trailing down from behind his neck to smooth the material of his jacket, but he spoke to answer her before she could finish, the hand on her thigh squeezing tighter, the claws at her hip gripping at her blouse, as though to hold her in place.

“ **no**. ...it's fine,” he grunted, his cheekbones tinting the lightest of blues and his gaze dropping away; he shifted his weight under her nervously, making himself more comfortable, and the way his fingers clenched and dragged against her skin, her thigh and the stripe of midriff bared by her bunched blouse, made her already present flush even hotter, blazing across her cheeks and sending her own gaze skittering away anxiously.

She didn't know where to rest her eyes, how to settle her breath or regain her presence of mind; she was by no means shy, nor was she unaware of the implications of their current position... she really didn't know why she was so rattled.

It wasn't from dislike, she knew that for sure... she had a feeling his disquiet wasn't either.

Searching for anything that she could find to dismiss the fuzz around her mind (her heart was thundering in her throat, everywhere she was in contact with him alive with blistering electricity), Frisk dropped her gaze to the hand laid out on her leg, the bones stark against her flesh. She could feel his claws, a warning of the danger his hands presented, pressing against her skin, but she felt no fear for their razor sharp edges, the rough grain of his battered, calloused phalanges nor the strength she could feel behind his grasp.

All she saw was the beauty of the way the bones moved and fit together, as she always had. All she saw were the scars and cuts and cracks that she had always wondered about, but never felt familiar enough to ask.

In the quiet of their repose, she lowered her hand from his chest (she refused to move the one behind his neck, the pads of her fingers tracing the sharpened spines of his cervical vertebrae through his sweater) to touch the deepest of the incisions on his hand, a jagged, half healed cut almost a fourth of an inch deep through four of his five finger bones.

“How'd you get these?” she asked quietly (it seemed almost sacrilegious to speak any louder than a murmur, in the weight of the moment, in the nonexistence of the space between them and in the barrier that lay shattered around them), and at her side, Sans flinched, not from pain, but from the suddenness of her motion and her question.

He seemed to have been looking, with deep thought, at the ring around her neck, and her voice had pulled him from his introspection; he followed her gaze to his knuckles, flexing his phalanges under her touch and inspecting them with her in a moment of silence.

“bear trap closed on my fingers. lucky i didn't lose 'em,” he mused, shaking his head and shifting his grasp on her thigh to, slowly, hesitantly, rub his thumb against her fingers, where they lay on his hand; she breathed in through her nose haggardly, her throat tight... before she tentatively shifted her hand as well, sliding her fingers between his.

His hands were so much bigger... she'd noticed before, but it was different, seeing her own against his. His palm swallowed hers entirely...

“God... Was it one of yours?” she whispered, shaken at the thought that he had had to set anything of the kind (she knew what he had been forced to do, in his world... the horrors he had lived through only through his own ingenuity and learned savagery... but he spoke of it so rarely that she often didn't think of it. ...that may be by his own design, now that she thought of it), but he shook his head, her horrified tone softening his expression.

He pulled her closer, with the hand at her waist, and squeezed her fingers between his at the same moment as he leaned further over her, his jacket shifting against her shirt, his skull settling, with a dull clack, against her forehead.

He was so close. So... so close... she could feel his breath on her lips, could practically taste his magic in the air; her blood was a firestorm, her awareness of anything outside their sphere of being shattered. Hadn't they been watching something? She didn't know, couldn't hear anything but his own shortened breaths, her pulse in her ears...

The singing of her soul, from the way he was looking at her, so calm and steady and _passionate_ and-

“nah. greater dog's old stuff, before he became an animal. 's okay. arms look worse, from trying to learn how to use my axe. all my attacks were projectiles, before... it all happened. had to learn hand to hand. ...hurt less,” he admitted in just as low a tone, the motions of his phalanges sweeping across her skin shaking her down to her very bones (his fingers had slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, she could feel them like brands at the edge of her awareness), and she couldn't help but lean into him.

She couldn't resist the pull of his gaze, the way the bone shifted and reformed around his mouth... the hand in her hair, freeing her own hand to trace the sharpness of his cheekbone... the turn of his torso, bringing them chest to chest, perfection in the way she fit against his chest...

“...I'm so sorry you went through all that...” she muttered breathlessly, her eyes hooded and her heart hammering, pushing her to close that last inch between them, the whisper of space that lay between their lips; he huffed out a quiet laugh, his socket lidding as well, his fingers threading further into her hair.

His nasal ridge brushed the tip of her nose, her skin tingling in fits and starts of eagerness and anticipation.

“don't be. worth it, wasn't it? to get here. my family still intact... finding out it wasn't the end for me,” he rejoined in a raw whisper, love and hope and the sheer joy of being able to live in the tilt of his smile, in the heart that flashed in his socket for a moment so short she thought she was seeing things, and with his admission, Frisk's control left her entirely.

She had been sure she would be awkward, after being so out of practice for so long, but the way her lips fit to his bony pair, the way their heads tilted and their bodies melted together and the space between disappeared entirely felt like the most natural thing in existence, like they had never been apart... like they were meant to be, two halves of a broken whole restored to its former glory.

She felt drunk almost immediately, her head swimming and the tips of her fingers going numb and her tongue tingling (though that likely had a lot to do with tasting his magic again after so long, his tongue sparking into existence to tangle with her own), and he seemed in no better state, his hands traveling up and down her sides, stroking through her hair, pulling her fully into his lap and pushing her ever closer to him, as though he was afraid she couldn't possibly be real.

Couldn't possibly be there with him, sharing the love he had craved for ages alone.

There wasn't a word spoken for what must have been over half an hour, as they breathed each other in and put their minds to rest, cemented the reality of their reunion into every fiber of their being; only gasps and grunts and the slickness of wetted lips and dancing tongues permeated the heavy evening air, the shifting of cloth and the creaking of the springs in the couch beneath them.

And when they parted, breathless and unkempt and flush with the conquest of their mutual pining, it was for but a moment, desperation in the way their lips clashed once more, in her hands as she clutched at the material of his hoodie, as though to tear it off of him... in his own hands, grasping at her hips, pushing her weight into him, into the gathering magic between her thighs.

She gasped in a wild rush of realization, when he rolled his own hips up into her, the suction of her lips around his tongue separating with a loud pop, and he grinned up at her openmouthed, leaning back into her kiss and pulling her further into the cradle of his pelvis, his hands curving over the thickness of her ass to grind her against his arousal.

He could smell her own, even through her shorts, her want for their union, for his _cock_ , and he wouldn't wait another moment, not with her willingness... with her gorgeous, full body writhing against him.

His confined length twitched at his considerations, the bulge restrained by his shorts pressing solidly against her own concealed entrance, and Frisk moaned into the skeleton monster's mouth, haltering and unsteady. She was high on the taste of his magic, different than she remembered but so very heady... knowing he had more to give her, _wanted_ to give her, excited her more than she could contain.

She bit the tip of his tongue as it slithered back into her mouth playfully, and his gruff gasp, the way he shuddered and how _hard_ he forced her against his erection, made her whimper in pure want, saying nothing of the look he gave her when he jerked back, the tip of his tongue hanging over a sharpened canine, his lit socket crazed and bright.

He looked _ravenous_.

“you do that again, i'm not gonna be responsible for what i do to you,” he panted, his voice tinted with a warning snarl, and she _shivered_ , heat washing through her veins and straight between her legs. He noticed, his sharp growl twisting into a smirk.

“not that you wouldn't enjoy that, i'm guessing.”

Frisk swallowed, her eyes wide and her breath short as she nodded submissively (holy... her Sans had never been this, this... _dominant_ ), and had to look away when he chuckled darkly, his hands rolling her against the hardness pressed firmly against her core, his head twisting to press his mouth, fangs and hot breath, to her throat.

“you're a sweet little thing... 'n i've always had a bit of a sweet tooth. might just eat you up~” he snickered, his tongue sweeping up the length of her throat to wring yet another gasp, another shudder, from her, and Frisk, one hand clenching in the material of his hood and the other jumping to cover her kiss swollen lips, squirmed in his hold, her blush so bright that she was sure her face would burst into flame.

“A-as tempting as that is... I-I have something else in mind, though in the same vein,” she stuttered, squeaking unintentionally when one of his teeth grazed her skin, and he smirked against her flesh, pulling back just enough to meet her eye, to savor the wavering of her breath when he squeezed the thickness of her ass in his palms.

“oh yeah? what's that?” he crooned, the tip of his tongue tracing along a pointed incisor, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight, her body again quaking with a shiver in response. She nevertheless pressed on with her intent, though, moving to dismount his lap while, at the same moment, battling her raging blush.

She should have expected his reaction, as instinctive as he still was, from his years surviving off of habit and reaction alone; he clutched at her like a lifeline, panic and confusion stealing away his seductive ardor in a trice, his hands forming inescapable shackles around her knee and one of her wrists.

She knew the look in his sockets, knew what was going through his head. She saw it every time she went to the grocery store without him and then saw him following after her in the aisles only minutes after arriving, every time she went out the back door to do her watering and he trailed after her only a moment later. When she would take a little too long walking the girls to the bus stop and he was waiting beside the door. When her doctor appointment had run long, and he called her fourteen times in the space of three minutes.

She knew because she had felt it too, when he had tried to leave her.

She halted in her motion to scoot out of his lap, and leaned into him instead, pressing her hand to his jaw, her lips to his cracked forehead.

“Calm down, Sans... I'm not going anywhere. I promise,” she whispered against the living bone there, letting him feel the pulse of her soul against him through her flesh, and he resisted only a moment before relaxing, turning his skull to press a cheekbone between her breasts, glorying in the magic of her being, the center of her self.

She let him bask there, for a moment, let him calm his anxiety and fears, before leaning back slowly to meet his gaze, her smile curving into suggestive coquettishness. Her fingers pulled at his jacket flaps, a silent query, an offer as hopeful as her sparkling gaze.

She didn’t have to speak a word. He obeyed her cue fluidly, sitting forward and sliding out of his jacket, without jostling her in the process, with the smooth grace of the practiced predator that he was, and tossed it to the floor without a second thought. He didn’t seem able to pull his gaze from hers while he did so, as captivated as she by the weight of the moment between them, tempered by both heat and meaning, but was far more hesitant to comply when she plucked at his creased turtleneck, his blue iris flickering and his gentle smile fading.

He let her, when she pulled it over his skull for him (the locket he never removed, glowing a gentle scarlet and brilliant gold, bounced against his now bare bones), baring his rib cage to her sight for the first time since… well, for the first time. She had never seen his.

If she thought she had seen the worst of his injuries before, she had been wrong. The gaping hole in his skull was something to behold, that was certain, but the state of not just his ribs (so much thicker and larger than her Sans’ had been, just as all of his other bones seemed to be; he had explained it away as a mutation from the Hunger before, the disease that had stolen both his world and his mind from him), cracked and scraped and cut and, in the case of one of the lower ones on the right, broken off entirely, but his spine and what she could see of the upper curves of his pelvis as well, was horrific. He looked like he had been on the bad end of a fight with a rhinoceros.

Most of the deepest cuts and fractures looked to be healing, thanks to her mother’s help, but they still looked painful. Frisk’s hands wavered, unsure and cautious, one clenched in his balled up sweater, the other hovering over his sternum, pocked by wear and the bite of an unknown blade. There was a bite mark around his last two cervical vertebrae that looked savage enough to have nearly taken his head off. Was that why he wore the high necked sweater? There were three claw marks across his sternum, stark and jagged, that almost split the bone into four pieces. She couldn’t stop staring at them. Did they still hurt? Could she touch them? She didn’t want to hurt him...

“...it’s okay. you don’t have to touch me like this. i’ll put it back on.” 

Sans’ voice pierced her study of his beaten and bruised bones, making her flinch and drop his turtleneck at his side, and she flashed her eyes up to meet his gaze. Well, at least attempt to meet it. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, instead gazing fixedly to the side, his cheekbones stained deep blue and his bony lips lowered into a frown. His hands were no longer on her. They lay at his sides, loose on the cushions of the couch.

He looked resigned. He looked _ashamed_.

Frisk tugged the sweater away from his inching claws the moment she recognized his expression, her lips popping open in realization and her heart swelling with pity.

“Sans… Sans _no_. I… I’m not afraid, or put off, I _**promise**_ **.** I’ve always found your bones fascinating, and your injuries… you have so many stories. So much I have left to learn about. I only wondered… if they still hurt. The last thing I want is to hurt you,” she explained with cracks edging her wavering words, tears threatening her watery vision, and through the haze, she saw him glance back at her, unsure and as wary as she.

He saw the tears beading her lashes, the tremble of her lower lip, and knew all he needed from that alone.

“don’t cry… not over me…” he whispered, and raised his hands, hands that had crushed skulls, broken necks, severed limbs, taken countless lives, to wipe her tears from her cheeks, to take her hands in his and place them, so gently, on his bared bones, on the old scars of battles hard won and the casualties of a life he never asked for.

He watched her eyes while he did so, watching her follow the lines of her fingertips as they traced his old wounds, the tallies of enemies overcome and days long passed. He didn’t flinch, so she assumed they didn’t cause him pain, but she kept the pressure light nonetheless, and tried not to blush too much, attempting to remind herself that she had been grinding against this monster’s cock only moments before.

Somehow, though, this felt far more intimate, far more private and serene than the broken pieces of their sordid moment of ecstasy. He seemed to reflect that, his voice hushed when he spoke again, his hands soft as they ran along her forearms, down her sides to again rest on her hips.

“never be afraid of hurting me. you don’t have it in you, i’ve known that since the moment i saw you, three months ago. no intent to harm… not an ounce of LOVE in your soul… but so… so much love… and you shared it with us. my daughter. my brother. and for some reason… me. ...it's impossible not to return it, when it’s so freely given, even if i definitely don’t deserve it,” he murmured, the cerulean ring of magic regarding her from his whole socket flickering with his depreciative disclosure, and Frisk, in his lap, with her fingers tracing his scarred and battle aged bones, felt both a warmth in her heart and a chill travel her spine at once, her gaze rising to find his.

She had known, from the first day he had stayed with them, his low opinion of himself and the way he had been forced to live in his Underground. The things he had had to do just to live. The shapes his mind had been twisted into by the illness that had taken them all. The sacrifices he had made for the end of keeping his family safe. There was something unspoken in his utterance that hinted at something darker, though, something unknown and maybe even dangerous about himself and the state of his soul and his own desires that he couldn’t, in this moment, put into words, something that he may one day want from her…

But that was alright. One step at a time. They didn’t have to discuss everything right now. Right now… she just wanted to be with him.

He jolted minutely when she shifted in his lap, her fingers spreading across his ribcage like the ivories of a piano; the apex of her thighs settled against his pelvis, her breath sweet and warm across his bones as she leaned close to press a kiss to his parted teeth.

“Then you have to promise… I mean. You have to believe me when I say I like how you look. Okay? I’m not just saying that. I want this. I do,” she swore in a whisper against the prominences of his bony lips, correcting herself before requiring a promise from him (she knew how he hated to make those), and trailed her lips in a bevy of kisses down his chin to his vertebrae, slowly urging him to lean his head back to give her more room.

“All of it, and all of _you_.”

His bones were so rough, so much more worn than her Sans’ had been… but that was him, it was what set him apart, and she pressed a kiss to every nick and crack she found as she descended the column of his throat, relishing the way his claws flexed against her hips, the way his bones vibrated under her touch…

The quiet moan he let out when she let out a wordless, hot breath against the cruel looking bite mark, the kiss she laid against it far wetter and lingering than the rest.

“Scars and all,” she finished in a lustful, hushed promise, the tip of her tongue extending past her lips to dip into the crevice between two of the indentions, and the shudder that ran through his entire body, the resurgence of his magic between her legs, the dig in of his claws and the gasp of pleasure he let out, sent the rush of arousal that had dissipated in their moment of soft understanding speeding through her blood like a tidal wave.

Another touch of her tongue, and his cock had fully formed again, straining the material of his shorts and the space between; another kiss, heavy with meaning and wet with ardor, and he had given himself over to her seduction, laying back into the couch, completely at her mercy.

She grew bolder with every moment, every sweep over her tongue and drag of her fingertips; she relished the grunts he let out when her fingernails scraped against him, when she found a particularly sensitive area and his cock twitched against her, harder and harder the longer he allowed her to explore him. 

He was hardly idle, though he allowed her free reign of his chest and throat, his head laid back against the sofa to give her all the space she needed; his hands roamed her body as well, though one was always present on her hip, to rock her against his more than obvious erection, traversing under her shirt to stroke up her stomach and down her spine, along the lengths of her thighs and very often squeezing at her wide posterior.

It was far too tempting to bear not to tease him. It began with a playful nip to his collarbone, a modicum of suction applied to his sixth cervical vertebra. A thumb traced along the inside of an iliac crest. A squeeze of her legs around his cock, so light.

She could tell he was getting riled from it, too. He was getting harder by the minute, so stiff she had had to shift to allow his erection to stand fully upright between her thighs (was… no, it was just the shadows. He couldn’t be bigger), saying nothing of the soaked material covering it; his gaze was as razor sharp as his gritted teeth, and his hands getting more and more rough by the moment. 

Her fun only ended when she made the mistake of making eye contact with him while tracing the tip of her tongue all the way up his sternum, one hand tracing its fingertips along his spine and the other teasing at the head of his very clearly over-aroused cock.

She was held captive by the ferocity of his stare the moment she reached the end of his breastbone, the tip of her tongue still protruding between her lips, saying nothing of the vicelike grip he had locked around her hand, forcing her to fist his dick even as he pushed her ass forward (despite her frayed attention, her mind lasered in on the fact that her fingers couldn’t even close around him, her fingertips centimeters apart as they stroked up and down his length, the material of his shorts bunched in her grip; it had to be her imagination, he _couldn’t_ be this big), grinding her against the remainder of the shaft. His expression was as ravenous as it had been the last time he had warned her of his sexual appetites, and she shivered when he bent closer to her, both adrenaline and intense arousal surging in her veins.

His fangs glimmered in the low light, both dangerous and strangely drawing in one, an inch from her spread lips.

“you keep teasing me, i’m gonna bend you over the coffee table and fuck you until you don’t know your own name, much less mine,” he growled, a predator delivering his last warning to his prey, and she shivered, her fingers tightening around his dick, her legs shaking and her abdomen clenching. She felt hot and cold at the same moment, arousal and hyper awareness tingling through every one of her nerve endings…

She couldn’t help but imagine what he had threatened, and felt her core tighten in response, her panties wetting even further and her eyelids fluttering.

“ _Sans_ …” she whimpered, before she even realized she had made a sound, her teeth biting into her lower lip and her free hand fisting around one of his thick ribs, and he grunted gruffly in response, his smile crooked and satisfied, his hands lazy as they moved her against his straining erection.

“mmm… you sound good moaning my name… almost as good as you look licking my bones. makes me wonder what else do you look good doing…” he observed, squeezing her fingers one more time before leaving her to stroke his length on her own; his now free hand wended its way up the length of her thigh and over the curve of her hip to push under the drape of her blouse, his long, rough phalanges spreading across her abdomen and waist in a searing stroke of bone to flesh that sent a gasp tumbling from her lips.

He only grinned more broadly at that, pushing his hand further under her shirt while directing the motion of her grinding hips (it wasn’t her imagination… he _definitely_ felt bigger than she remembered her husband being, in both girth and length), and Frisk sucked in a tremulous breath, whimpering quietly when the thickness of his arousal twitched in her grasp, pressing firmly against her soaked entrance.

“Um… I… I wanted to… before we talked, I was going to...” she stuttered, her words fragmenting and falling apart when his claws plucked at the bottom edge of her bra in an attempt to push under it (why had she worn her old, comfy, Saturday bra? She had the new, black lace one waiting in the bathroom in her room, it was so much nicer…), and Sans, his smirk twisting, looked up at her from under a hooded lid, his hand under her shirt slowing to a tantalizing crawl.

“you were gonna what, babe?” he prompted, tracing a slow, languid claw along the underside of a cotton covered breast, and Frisk, with a quiet wail and an arch of her spine (he had pushed her against his dick just the right way, spreading her folds to rub against her clit), carefully pushed his hands from her body to slide, as seductively as she could manage, down his legs to kneel between his legs.

She thought her blush and her hesitance, her unpracticed awkwardness as she repositioned herself, would detract from her performance (why was she acting like this? She was far from a virgin, she didn’t need to be nervous…), but from the way his iris dilated, the way his jaw dropped and how eagerly he sat up from his slouch, he either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, only looking down at her with all the lust and expectation that she had dared to hope he would respond with.

“guess you weren’t quite done licking bones,” he rasped huskily with a jerk of his chin, a half wink, and a hand groped at the significant bulge in his shorts; his joke fell flat in the wake of his pure shock over her abrupt move, his attention far more focused on her hands on his knees and the bite of her teeth into her lower lip, the way her breasts settled against his femurs, but she gave him a snort and a twist of her lips anyway, her blood pumping in her ears and her gaze flitting up to meet his for a bare moment.

“Not by a long shot,” she purred, flicking the tip of her tongue over her upper lip in emulation, then returned her attention to the straining material in front of her face, stained with glowing fluid and intimidatingly large. It had to be from the bulk of the clothes he was wearing. He always covered up (she knew why now; he was ashamed of what he looked like, what his world had done to him), so his clothes were baggy and dark… that had to be it.

Thankfully, his shorts were gym style, so she didn’t have to worry about a zipper; with some maneuvering, all she had to do was pull the waistline down over his pelvic arch, and his cock sprung free, flicking a string of precum onto her cheek and very nearly slapping her in the nose, it was so rigid.

It would have been painful, too, because his size had not been augmented at _all_ by his clothes… it may have only been hindered. He had to be somewhere between eight or nine inches long, the defined foreskin of the bulbous head pulled tightly away in his rampant desire and glistening with droplets of his excitement; his girth was no less intimidating, the thickness of his cock staggering the imagination at what must be nearly an inch and a half at the head, and only getting thicker as it neared the base, until it looked nearly as big around as a can of soda.

It seemed to curve just a little to the left, when it twitched under her perusal, the underside tightening and an oozing trail of magical seed from its tip, and after a long moment of stunned silence, Frisk, with a gulp and another, almost unconscious, lick of her lips, looked up at the skeleton monster watching her restlessly, her eyes wide and her fingers still clenched in the elastic of his shorts.

“...whoa,” she breathed, incapable of any commentary more, and he let out a breathless chuckle, shrugging one shoulder, running a thumb along the length of himself, and grinning sheepishly, dopily, almost. His cock twitched again at his own touch, spurting another long dribble of magic down his length to pool on his shorts; a shock of arousal shot between her legs just watching it drip down slowly, glowing softly and speaking of his intense desire for her.

If she hadn’t stopped herself, she’d have leaned forward and licked it off of him, base to tip, every drop he’d let out.

“not just my shoe size got bigger,” he snarked from above her, likely in response to her awed reaction to his dick (who wouldn’t react like that? A porn star would drop her jaw at the sight), and Frisk, with another snort and a nudge to his knee, slid herself closer to him, finally releasing the hem of his shorts (below the arch of his pelvis, so they wouldn’t get in her way) so she could touch him herself.

He was so warm, though she knew he felt no temperature himself, his magic pulsing against her fingertips like a heartbeat as she ran her grip along his incredibly thick base (there was no way… absolutely no way she’d be able to take all of this. She couldn’t even imagine… well. She could imagine, but it would take time and practice… a _lot_ of practice…), ridges like veins rising tactile against her touch as she stroked higher.

Her other hand traced the curve of his right iliac crest, her chin tilting in thought as she considered her first move; he was not so thick that her plan to pleasure him was completely out of the question, but it was going to be difficult, especially since she was out of practice and had been thinking he would be of much more familiar size.

Her gaze, watching yet another string of precum escape his cock, rose to his face (his eyelid was fluttering, his teeth parted and expression vacuous; her bare contact with him was more than serving to distract him, that was clear), and with a knowing smile and a pat to his knee, Frisk regained his attention with a jolt, one of his hand clenching in the cushion beside him on the couch and the other jumping to her shoulder.

“what’d i miss,” he slurred, slurping at what must have been the beginning of a patch of drool at the corner of his mouth, and Frisk giggled, giving his cock a long, slow pump (he groaned, his head falling back against the back of the couch and his hand clenching on her shoulder reflexively) before kissing the sticky, magic dotted head and winking up at him.

“I was talking about this. _You_. I'm not complaining. This just might be a bit harder than I-” she began, matter-of-fact and considering again the logistics of fitting his salami sized dick into her mouth, when from the corner of her eye she saw his crooked grin and felt his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle.

It took her a moment to catch the joke, as she was more concerned with initiating _intercourse_ with him, but the moment she caught on, she glared up at the guffawing skeleton (to his credit, he _was_ attempting to laugh behind his hand), who let out a chortle of laughter at her look that made a smile crack across her face even against her better judgment.

“Shut up, Sans! I’m trying to do something here!” she complained with a snort, slapping his knee light-heartedly even as she tried to hold back her own chuckle (god, why did he always have to make her laugh at the worst times… she had missed his jokes so much…), and he could only snicker in return, wiping a hand across his face and wrinkling his nasal ridge.

He was so handsome when he smiled...

“you set yourself up for it, not meeee-e _e_ _ **e**_ _**fuck**_!” he started to protest laughingly, smirking down at her and ruffling her hair under his hand playfully, but Frisk had had enough of his jokes for the moment, and wiped the smile from his face with a clean swipe of her tongue, from the base of his cock all the way to the head. He tasted like heaven, like the space between the stars and sex and lilac and she wanted more, she didn’t even have to consider swallowing the seed she had gathered on the tip of her tongue, it was already down her throat.

The head of his erection was between her lips the next moment, her tongue flicking at it to tease and coax every drop of magic he may be withholding from her from it; his body convulsed in shocks of pleasure, his claws constricting in her hair, either to drag her away or hold her in place, she didn’t know. All she knew was the way his free hand felt as he groped at her breast needily, settled against his knee, and how his voice sounded in her ears, deep and plaintive, as he begged for more.

“more... more... shiiiiit babe, _please_...”

The sheer thickness of him stretched her lips to their fullest within inches of sinking herself onto his length, flattening her tongue and warming the roof of her mouth; his dick flexed, his fingers clenching in her hair, and with a shallow thrust, she felt him spill a trickle of seed down her throat, so hot, tingling and sparking with power and lust.

It made her toes curl, her eyes roll back and a helpless moan tremble through her body; her panties practically flooded, her tongue winding around the textured column of his cock, barely remembering to suck, she was so concerned with swallowing down the offering of seed his tip couldn’t seem to stop leaking.

Gods, she had forgotten how his magic tasted. It was different than she remembered, darker and thicker somehow, but still… still so good…

So addictive…

Her hand joined her mouth’s efforts, stroking the impossible length of him that her lips just couldn’t reach (she was going to have to work on her gag reflex something awful, he was just too big right now to even think of managing), while her free hand, before sitting so idle on her thigh, delved between her own legs, pressing at her swollen folds, her soaked entrance, searching desperately for her clit. She arched into his grasp, the grip and pull of his hand as he guided her lips on his cock… the twist of his fingers as he flicked at her pebbled nipple, grunting her name through the haze and static of her own bliss.

Each moment, another trail of magic decorated the back of her tongue. Every buck of his hips, she hungered for more. She knew he was close. She could feel it in the way he tensed, the hoarseness of his voice.

The wildness in his sockets when she looked up to meet his gaze. 

She didn’t know how long he let her suck his cock. She lost track of time extremely quickly, far more occupied with the feeling of him, the sound of his pleasure and the taste of him on her tongue… but snapped back into reality when she felt, with a shock of arousal, his cock _throb_  against her lips with absolute, nearly orgasmic finalily.

She whimpered, when he pushed her as far as she could go down his length, slipping her fingers past the leg of her shorts, the band of her panties and straight into the abundance of her own arousal, the sopping wetness of her core; Sans snarled at the sound of her fingering herself, the tightness of her throat taking him, and threw his head back, gritting his teeth and shuttering his sockets, before, with a level of dominance that sent a keen of arousal tumbling from her lips, he dragged Frisk’s mouth off his cock by the hand in her hair.

He gripped the base of his dick with his free hand, rubbing his hand over the top of her head apologetically for any pain he had caused, but stopped her when she made to resume sucking him off again, sending her a strained wink and jerking his chin upwards. A streak of sweat dripped down the dome of his skull to color his jaw.

His gaze was intense, and almost as hard as his straining, leaking cock, flared with the ferocity of his lust.

“hold up there, frisky… i wanna find out what the full package is like before i blow my load…” he grunted, panting slightly and patting his lap indicatively, but Frisk, two fingers still buried to the knuckle in her core and a lingering, cooling trail of both magic and saliva dripping down her chin, could only stare up at him incomprehensibly, blinking and lost to her own ardor.

She could barely think past the haze of desire over her mind, the thick, dripping length of him promising pleasure and magic before her eyes; she reached for him again, slicking her fingers into the wetness of her core and salivating at the thought of taking him into her mouth again… at the thought of swallowing down the cum bubbling from the tip of his cock, dripping in rivulets down his scarred phalanges…

She whined helplessly, squirming and grinding her palm against the bunched material of her shorts and panties, when he closed his hand around her grasping fingers and kept her from touching him yet again, gazing plaintively up at him with her need clear in her wanting eyes.

“Please, Sans… please, I want more…” she begged wantonly, forcing herself to pull her fingers from within her walls (it was a herculean effort, truly, she had wanted nothing more than to push yet another into herself) to attempt to pull her hand from his grasp, but he captured her other wrist as well, his grin a slice of hunger, dripping with as much lust, if not more, as her soaked folds.

“no no, baby… got the best seat in the house waitin’ for ya, and it’s got your name on it.”

He didn’t keep her waiting a moment longer, either, suspending her ardor fogged mind before she could complain once more; he pulled her into his lap by his grasp on her hands and turned her beneath him on the couch the very next second, pressing his weight into her to pin her and feel her against him both, his ribs to her straining breasts, her wrists above her head, held in one large, clawed hand… his rigid cock between her spread thighs, staining the twisted material of her shorts with his desire, begging for entrance.

His fanged mouth at her throat, tongue tracing her pounding pulse, breath a humid fog sinking into her flesh like a drug; his teeth, sharp as razors, tugging at her earlobe, bared in savage greed, incredible starvation.

“let me fuck you, like we’ve both been dyin’ for…” he growled, his hips bucking against her urgently, _desperately_ , his grip tightening around her wrists; his other hand clawed between their bodies, tugging at her waistband, the barrier of damp cloth that lay between her entrance and his turgid, thrusting dick, ripping at her clothing when the material wouldn’t cooperate, his rough knuckles grinding at her swollen folds, her sodden clit, in his efforts to enter her.

She keened wildly, her toes flexing and her back arching, when one of his animalistic motions tore the seams out of her shorts and panties entirely, allowing his next wild thrust to slide all the way along her bared core, before, with a blink and a gasp, she caught sight of the roof, the headlights, of a passing car from the corner of her eye, through the front window just feet away.

The fog cleared from her mind just a little, just enough to remind her of the foolishness of continuing where they were now. She didn’t want to share this with anyone, anyone but him. Her hands in his grasp tightened, fisting and shaking. A leg rose to push against his rolling hips, away, gently, so gently.

“Wait... _wait_...” she plead quietly, her voice an apology she hoped he would understand, and even in the height of his lust, even in the depths of his want, so close to joining with her, he halted in his tracks, raising his head to meet her gaze. He saw her hesitance, the bite of her teeth into her lower lip and her flush, and released her hands immediately, sitting up and away, looking over her for injury with worry and fear creasing the bone of his cracked brow.

“are you okay? was i going too fast? we can go back to before, i just-” he queried in a hushed, strained whisper, attempting to pull his shorts back up, one handed, to hide his glorious, dripping length, his other hand smoothing over her lower abdomen, the torn remains of her panties and the sweat and precum, his fingers shaking in his clear concern, but Frisk, scrambling to halt the misunderstanding before it started, grasped at his wrists to stop him, her fingers sliding to tangle with his, pressing him to her sticky folds… her fingertips to his slick cock, begging for her attention despite his attempt to draw away.

Her leg travelled the length of his femur, dragging his shorts out of his limp grasp again; her fingers guided his, sliding a thick phalange into her core with a wavering, haltering breath.

“I’m okay, Sans... I just don't wanna do this out here. Bed. Please,” she prompted, holding his gaze the moment she found it and jerking her head towards the darkened hallway, her smile suggestive and sly, but she knew before she had even finished her plea, before her grasp had reached the base of his dick once again, that he had seen the fire in her eyes, that he had felt the slick tightness of her walls around his bones; she was in his arms without a wasted breath, crushed to his chest with his tongue down her throat and his magic already surging to pull them between the layered fabrics of space, into the fathomless dark for a moment she didn’t even notice with his pubic arch grinding against her clit and his hands pulling her in tighter, tighter, ever tighter-

And then they existed again, falling in perfect grace to the covers of the bed, her bed, bouncing once before their lips, dancing with shadows from the place between, breathless and chill, met again, a clash of wet flesh to cracked, charged bone, desperate for more.

Her sheets were cool, cool against her flushed skin where it was bared by his ardent lust, torn by his predator’s claws, warnings that perhaps, perhaps she didn’t know what she was getting into, but she didn’t heed that whining worry, pulling back from his fervent, amorous kiss and his firm grasp only in the hope that she could, perhaps, tease him even further.

She remembered the underwear she had bemoaned not wearing earlier for him. It seemed a shame to put more clothes on when he had already divested her of all but the scraps that remained of her outfit, but she had a feeling that they both needed a moment to calm before they joined anyway.

Frisk giggled when Sans, with a gruff growl, attempted to resist her crawling out from under him, kissing along her neck and pulling at her thighs in a vain effort to wrap them again around his pelvis, completely missing his shorts now (he must have left them behind when he flashed them in here), but she only met his hunger with a chaste, placating kiss to his cheekbone, smoothing a hand over the one he was trying to slide up under her rumpled, stained tee.

“Can I have a minute? To prepare? It’ll only take a sec, promise,” she cooed to him, fluttering her lashes in the way she knew neither of them had ever been able to deny, and he blinked up at her, panting and flushed powder blue, but rolled off of her obediently, nodding several more times than necessary and clearly making a valiant attempt not to jerk himself off while staring over at her.

He failed magnificently, and she laughed at his sheepish grin and the quake of desire that made her knees nearly fail her as she knelt on the edge of the mattress, tracing her fingers along his bare rib cage, along the processes of his spine, the curve of his pelvis, teasing and sly.

“It’ll be worth it, promise~” she vowed, slipping from the bed and sashaying her way across the room provocatively (he let out a rumble of approval at the sight of her, licking along his fangs and clearly contemplating giving chase) before she let herself into her bathroom, pressing the door closed behind her and leaving him alone in the center of the rumpled bed, bare and panting and staring at the back of the bathroom door as though he wished he could see through it.

With a strained ‘oof’ and some exertion, he rolled himself up to his knees, erection bobbing against his femurs, and sent the bathroom door one last, longing look before attempting to arrange the bed for them, wadding up and tossing the comforter on the floor, piling up her pillows (one he left in the middle, biting his lower lip line at the thought of sliding it under her, just the way he used to) and, with a crooked smile, rifling through her drawers in search of lubrication.

He was going to have to ask her about some of the toys he found… maybe she’d let him use them on her.

With a rather interesting tube of gel in hand (it promised heating, lingering slickness, and high sensation… it must have magic in it), Sans slid the top drawer of Frisk’s bureau closed, only slightly abashed to have gone through her things to get it, and set it on the top for use later, seating himself on the edge of the bed to look around the rest of her room impatiently.

He had never been invited inside, before tonight, had really only seen glimpses from the hallway in passing, or shadows in the darkness, the days she was sick and needed tending (he had felt like an intruder, those days, out of place and unwelcome, and hadn’t lingered long), and so he had never seen the decor, the many knick-knacks and memoirs of a life he hadn’t been a part of, but had been touched by his hand all the same.

He saw his influence everywhere. The humor in the design of the dresser. The magic in the bedside lamp, casting soothing light that eased the mind and slumber. His degrees from the Underground, hung proudly on the wall still.

The photograph of himself and her on the nightstand beside him, his smile right and whole, his gaze content, unbroken.

Sans stared at the past vision of himself, his arm around Frisk’s waist and his grin carefree and confident, and felt his soul tinge green, as it so often did in his presence. How much he had possessed, before his death. Everything he had ever wanted, and been denied.

It wasn’t like him to be jealous, but in the face of the monster that had had it all…

He turned his gaze away, and reached out to push the picture over, face down, on the top of the nightstand. He didn’t need her flawless husband judging him, tonight of all nights.

“damnit...” he whispered to himself, bitter as he always was when it came to his other self, then jumped, self-conscious and caught up in the twisted machinations of his own mind, when the bathroom door opened again; the light within flickered off, hiding the room within, before Frisk, her hair let down from its tail and her cheeks aflame, stepped out of the room, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and rubbing one calf against the other.

His jaw nearly dropped off his face, he was so awestruck.

She had divested herself of her former, ripped and stained outfit and donned a set of black, lacy lingerie, frilled, nearly see through panties and stockings held in place with a garter belt. She had declined wearing the matching bra, however,  (for one thing, it would really only get in the way, and for another, it had turned out to be just a little too small), and Sans’ gaze, wide and rapturous, focused intently on her bared breasts, one of her arms held beneath the bountiful flesh.

He moaned aloud when her other hand, teasingly, knowingly, rose to roll one of her already peaked nipple between her fingers, his magical, pointed gaze rising back to meet hers. He grinned at her own coquettish smile, open mouthed and letting out a huff of air.

“stars fucking above,” he vocalized, rising to join her across the room, lost to heady want, but she came to him instead, hesitating for only a moment of unsure proclivity before pressing herself against him, rising to her tiptoes to kiss his agape jaw… smoothing a stocking covered thigh up the length of his femur.

“Hehe... you like it?” she purred against the living bone of his mandible, encouraging his lax hands to touch her, and he needed no further incentive than that, his hands clasping at her lace covered rear, squeezing her closer, pressing her bare breasts to his ribs, her abdomen to the curved underside of his cock, held firmly between them… pushing the line of his bony lips to her full, glistening pair, stealing her breath away as surely as she had stolen his.

“course i do. just look at yourself...” he whispered against the wave of her tongue, turning them both to return to the bed they had left not too long ago; he lifted her bodily, swallowing her gasp as he tucked her legs around his pelvis and pulled her into the air, to crawl onto its surface, laying them again near the center of the mattress, her lower back supported by the pillow he had left out just for that purpose.

He sent her a sultry wink, when he had had enough, for the moment, of her kisses, and trailed his fangs along her extended throat, his hips rolling the thickness of his length across the whisper thin crotch of her panties, already slick with the wetness he had sown in her only minutes ago…

He had to remind himself that these were nice underwear, and that she would likely mind quite a bit if he destroyed them, to keep from ripping these too. He had to go slow… steady. Not lose himself to the beast that beat on the inside of his skull, rapturous and instinctive, demanding he rut and breed her like a sow-

 _ **Stop**_. Enough. Slow… steady.

His fangs curved into a sliver of a grin against her pulse, his tongue whipping between their points to trail her skin, along the hidden tendons, to the lobe of her ear. He relished her shudder, the hands in her hair and slid beneath her rear tightening and flexing.

“my turn...” he whispered against her, turning her head to bite gently at her ear for a moment, just enough to make her squirm and arch against him, just how he liked her (she was a marvel, a goddess, every inch of her skin star sent and perfect), before he descended to lave his tongue along the indents of her collarbones, the dips and scars that marked her flesh worshipped how he wished.

He was practically vibrating with the need to attend to her breasts, when he finally reached them, her peaked nipples dragging along the curved surfaces of his ribs, their fullness heaving with her every labored breath; the hand tangled in her hair lowered to join his slow perusal of them, cupping a breast in his palm, so soft, so heavy and full.

She shuddered when he circled a nipple with the tip of his thumb, flicking his claw against her stiffened flesh and watching her blush run all the way down her arched throat to kiss the tops of her breasts; he couldn’t help his worshipful exhalation, his awe and his admiration.

“...gorgeous...” he breathed, squeezing softly, marvelling at the way she filled his hand entirely, and she giggled shyly, turning her face away even as one of her hands rose to trail the length of his humerus, pulling him closer, encouraging his exploration.

“Been awhile, huh?” she questioned in a hushed gasp, her legs spread about his pelvis squeezing and inviting when he stroked her nipple again, and he sent her blush a soft, knowing smile, freeing his other hand to caress her cheek, brush her hair from her face.

Nothing was going to hide her from him again… not after everything they’d both gone through.

“almost twenty years, yeah... but you're... they're bigger than i remember. from carrying?” he asked tentatively, tipping her chin back towards him even as he, with a rush of mischievous ardor, plucked her nipple between two of his rough phalanges and rolled it slowly against them, and Frisk, teeth biting into her lower lip and grip on his arm and ribs tightening, tossed her head and flexed her toes, whimpering under her breath.

“Y-yeah… ahhh...” she moaned quietly, pressing further into his grasp to encourage his play, pulling him closer, into the cradle of her thighs, to rub the stiffened length of him along her soaking folds, and Sans, allowing her maneuvering all too eagerly, trailed his fingers down the length of her throat, tracing the tip of a claw between the source of his current obsession, over the beat and glow of her soul, to cup her neglected breast.

“i never got to see, after... but stars. i love 'em... ” he rasped, rolling her captured flesh in his palms, astounded at the sight of her, before he raised his gentle, glowing gaze to meet hers, taking both of her nipples between his fingers and teasing them against the flats of his thumbs.

“so soft... and _sensitive_...” he crooned in an undertone, the ghost of a grin playing around his fanged mouth, and Frisk, her breath seizing in her throat, squirmed wantonly in his grasp, her spine curving into him and inviting him only closer, to do with her body what he willed. Her stilled breath left her in a keening wail the very next moment, her hair a halo of mahogany about her head as she tossed and bucked against him urgently.

It was so much… so much, and he had only started playing with her, his grin only growing as he, holding her eye pointedly, bent to slurp the tip of his tongue across one of her reddened nipples, twisting the other in his grasp and nearly sending her to nirvana. She couldn’t help the sounds she made, the whimpers and moans and pleas for more, her mind separated between the feeling of him above her, pinning her to the mattress, the sensation of his teeth closing carefully around her, teasing and evocative… the searing heat of his cock throbbing against her center, delicious friction building with each languid roll of his hips.

“Ahhhh... _aaahhhh..._ Saaaans...” she cried, over and over, a mantra she wanted to taste on her tongue until the end of time; he chuckled at her plaintive moans, squeezing her breasts in his palms and tracing his tongue between them teasingly before relinquishing one from his grasp, tracing his fingers along her ribcage, the downy flesh of her abdomen.

“that's my name... feel free to wear it out,” he invited with a lilt to his tone, wagging a bony brow at her at the same moment that he sucked her nipple into his mouth and slid his fingers under the waistline of her panties, and Frisk’s next groan of pleasure warbled into nothingness at the slick of his phalanges along her soaked folds, parting her flesh and circling her clit before venturing lower, to play about her entrance.

He hummed in approval of what he found, suckling once more at her nipple before letting it go with a pop and slowly, torturously, slipping the tips of two fingers inside her.

“you're so wet... so ready...” he observed with a sultry grin, his socket hooded and as flirtatious as his teasing fingers, dipping, so shallow, inside her and back out, and she _writhed_ for him, bucking against his fingers, hoping to press him further into her. He made to reprimand her playfully, tsking his tongue and shifting to, clearly, return the favor she had given him (she could imagine it already, the slide of his gelatinous tongue along her heated folds…), but she had no patience for that now.

She needed him, _badly_ , and pulled him to a halt with her grasp on his lowest connected ribs, her eyes shining with her want, her _need._

“ _No_. I want you _now_. _**Please**_ **…** fuck me…” she begged, shameless and lost to the need to have him inside her, one with her again, and he cast her a glance so hot, so reflective of her own cravings, that her abdomen clenched in a wave of near orgasmic ecstasy, a gush of her juices wetting his fingers, stilled and enticing within her core.

His teasing smile sharpened, baring the point of a fang in obvious hunger; his phalanges pulled from within her with a wet slurp, to hook into the lace edging of her panties.

“well when you put it like that... how could i say no.”

Her underwear were off and flicked across the room before she could blink, dragged down her stocking clad legs with the graceful skill of the predator she sometimes forgot he was; he seemed disinclined to removing the stockings, though (she knew he would want them on… he had always had a thing for them), running a palm along her thigh and calf in a moment of quiet appreciation, before, with a steadying breath and a firmly locked jaw, he sat up fully between her spread legs, met her gaze, and reached up to unclasp the locket from around his neck.

She knew what he was doing the moment that he started fumbling with the hook, the heavy, jeweled charm clacking against his ribs, and she frowned, her brows beetling in concern, one hand rising to lay on his forearm.

“Sans, _no_ , you don't hav-” she began to protest, guilt and unease poisoning the desire thick on her tongue, but he shook his head stiffly, his own bony brows lowering in stubborn denial. 

“yeah i do. i don't wanna bite you. not like this, at least. you don't need to accept anything. ...just let me see it on you. please. let me know you'll be safe,” he plead quietly, finally getting the thick chain of the locket apart, and held the necklace out to her the moment he had pulled it from around his neck.

Frisk’s heart softened at his reasoning, her turmoil settling and her vision filming with unshed tears, and she only nodded in answer, accepting the tarnished gold chain into her extended hand before, with a rush of inspiration, setting it and the heart locket between her breasts so she could undo her own necklace, the fine silver chain strung with her late husband’s ring.

She placed it into his still open hand carefully, the ring clicking against the bone so familiarly.

“T-then you have to wear mine,” she insisted, sitting up on one elbow to, with precious care, string his chain about her throat, and Sans, with a shuddering breath, looked down at the ring and necklace in his palm, the orb of cerulean magic in his socket dimming, his firm expression sinking just a fraction into distemper.

He only hesitated a moment before copying her and stringing the chain around his neck, though, and touched where the ring settled against his ribs with a single claw, pensive and solemn. His whole socket closed, his breath even and slow, before he raised his gaze again to hers, lingering a single moment on the necklace strung around her throat, the locket resting between her breasts, above her soul.

“...as long as you want me to,” he murmured, a hand lowering to caress her abdomen, soft and warm against his palm; he obeyed when she reached for him with a tremulous lip and tears on her lashes, drowning the weight of her sadness in a kiss heavy with his own. Loss and misery long past washed away in their embrace, in wandering hands and sighs of rapture, and when she whispered her desire against his jaw, he gave her what she had been craving, his hand behind one of her knees, the other fisted in the sheets beside the waves of her waterfall tresses.

And the glory of how her body accepted him, her flesh parting around the thickness of his magic just the way it always had, as though it had only been yesterday… his forehead hit the mattress beside her throat, listless in his weakness, craven, wanton groans leaving him as he sunk further into the clutch of her folds, the sheer heat of her enfolding him comparable to the sun.

And how she _writhed_. She bucked like the waves of a storm tossed sea, pressing him deeper, though his size was far too great for her to handle; her free leg wound around the curve of his pelvis, locking him in place inescapably. Her fingers wound into his ribs, between, around, in and out, along their length to his spine and back, and her lips… stars, her lips, they suckled at his cervical vertebrae as though trying to suck the marrow from them, heavy with whispers of ardor and keens of rapture.

“Sans... Sans, _yes_ … please, more, I need you...”

She was a siren, a creature of immeasurable beauty; he was caught up in her like a ship in a hurricane, without a breath of a chance, a wish in the heavens. Every one of his bones rang with pleasure, with the fulfillment of being one with her again, a dream he had carried with him for nearly two decades; his soul _sang_ , he could feel the cracks that ran far too deep in it physically healing from being so close to her.

He was crying, like a fool, like a sentimental _fool_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to care; all he had ever wanted, since the moment he had felt her leave him, was to have her back, and here she was, with him again, it was everything… everything in the universe he had ever wanted.

“frisk... frisk… _**frisk**_...”

He must sound like an idiot, saying her name over and over like a mantra, but she was his goddess in this moment, perfect in every way; he couldn’t look away from her face, couldn’t help himself from worshipping her how she deserved, with everything in him…

She was pushing on his shoulder.

Sans blinked, snapping out of his stupor and returning to at least momentary clarity, to the sinking realization of the situation… not only had he managed to, in his distraction, completely slip out of her, he had cum as well, his length softening noticeably against her stomach and dripping puddles of blue magic all over her abdomen and the bedsheets.

It hadn’t even been five minutes, and he had finished.

He flushed in mortification, sending her an apologetic glance, before sitting up to his knees and running his hand along his cock, determined to get himself hard again. He’d barely been able to keep himself down the first few days he’d been here, it should have been easy, but with a sinking sense of finality, the magical appendage dissipated entirely, leaving him with nothing but chagrin and humiliation and an unsatisfied human covered in his disgrace.

Her expression of understanding almost made it worse.

“that’s just fucking _perfect_ ,” he cursed under his breath, grinding his palms into his sockets, and sat back onto his heels, consumed with an almost comical amount of degradation (it would have been funny if it had been anyone but him in this situation), and Frisk, pity in her sigh and the narrow of her brows, shifted to sit up next to him, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his bare humerus.

“Sans... calm down, its okay-” she began to soothe, shivering at the feeling of one of the rivulets of cum running down her hip (still warm…), but he cut her off with a snarling laugh, sending her a poisonous glance from the corner of his shattered socket that she knew wasn’t meant for her, but for himself.

“no it's not, i screwed it up, i couldn't hold it down for two damn _minutes-_ ” he derided, shrugging her hand away and making to dismount the bed, but she wasn’t going to have it, not over something as simple as this, and firmed her grip on his arm, scowling at him and pulling him back into place impatiently.

“Sans! It's not the end of the world!” she insisted, frowning at him sternly, and he looked back at her with a tightness in the grit of his fangs, shame and humiliation heavy in the weight on his shoulders, in the deep blue tint of his cheekbones.

“ _ **how**_ **,** _”_ he demanded, unable to meet her gaze directly, the hand of the arm she had in her grip fisted against his femur, and with a heavy sigh, Frisk lightened her hold on him, leaning against his side and lightly, gently pressing a kiss to the base of his skull. He stiffened for a moment, his entire body tensing… before he loosened, leaning into her warmth, turning his face into her hair.

She smiled at that, stroking her fingers along the length of his arm and nuzzling against his pitted shoulder blade.

“Lay back, okay? It's been awhile for me too... but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve still,” she purred against his mandible, her other hand dragging the pillow she had been propped up on over for him to rest his head on, and he sent her a dubious look, clearly vacillating and still shamed by his lack of control, but obeyed her request and scooted fully back onto the bed.

He let her arrange him on the mattress with dubious curiosity, the aged ivory of his bones shadowed in the dim light of her bedside lamp and the cerulean of his gaze following her every move warily. One of his hands traced the heavy fall of her hair when she knelt beside him, once he was laid out, his sockets trained on her intent expression.

“what are you- oh. _oh_ _ **fuck**_...” he began, wondering aloud at her so called tricks, but was cut short by a strangled, gurgling exclamation when she bent, a gleam in her eye, to lave her tongue across the sensitive bone of his pelvic arch, the hand not supporting her weight dipping between his spread femurs to trace along the foramen of his sacrum.

The hand tracing her hair knotted into it in a trice, unconscious and needy; his pelvis rolled up into the press and drag of her tongue, begging for the dip it took into the obturators… his spine arched, needing her to touch him more, just that little bit more that always did the trick-

 _Stars_ , she really did know what she was doing. He could feel his magic responding already, after only moments of her caressing and sucking at him…

He needed to give something back.

Something devious and sly rose at the back of his mind, drawing his gaze from the tip of her delicious tongue traversing his pelvis and the already gathering magic there and over to her raised posterior. His tongue thickened behind his fangs, dripping with saliva and want; his claws threaded through her hair to trail along her throat, garnering her attention and a shiver from her as well.

He sent her a smirk, open mouthed and inviting, beckoning with his free hand, claw curling provocatively.

“scoot up, over my face. let me make this up to you...” he muttered, hooding his whole socket and jerking his chin, and, with a flush of both realization and intrigue, Frisk, biting her lower lip and nodding slowly, did as she was bidden, sitting up to, carefully, rearrange herself over top of him, straddling his shoulders and spreading her legs on either side of his head.

It took some finangling, and quite a few chuckles exchanged between them, before they were arranged comfortably, but in time, she was arrayed out, upside down over his broad chest with her breasts dangling below his rib cage enticingly and her lips again dancing over his pelvis and forming cock, while he had the best view in the house, his hands spreading her folds apart to bare her soaked entrance to him.

She was tense with expectation, tight and sopping from the excitement of being presented as she was, he could tell, and he squeezed at her ass with one hand while rounding the soft expanse of her clit with the pad of his thumb, his grin lascivious and craven; he felt himself twitch against her lips just at the sight of her core spasming, wetter every moment he spent watching her.

A knuckle run along her core sent a warbling keen spilling from her that only made him harder… a single finger slid into her, slowly, agonizingly slowly, made her rut into his palm like a dog in heat.

By the time he was through playing with her, he was starving for her, to taste her as she had him; he squared his shoulders to raise his head and parted his jaw to slick the flat of his tongue along her entirety of her, every drop of her wetness, her arousal, flicking her clit in passing, dipping the tip of his tongue into her as he went… the works.

Stars, the _sound_ she made… even with her lips wrapped around his cock, it carried around the room, and vibrated through his bones like a roll of thunder. His second lick was much the same, paired with a roll of her hips back into his face that forced his tongue into her an inch. She was as hungry for him as he was for her, perhaps even more so… and who was he to deny her.

It was Frisk that ended up outclassed this time, she came to find; try as she might, she just couldn’t seem to keep her mouth around his dick while he ate her out, and not only did she lose track of pleasuring him almost completely, beyond giving him the laziest handjob of the century (he didn’t seem to mind, given his enthusiasm behind her), she ended up sliding down him entirely, propped on her chest and knees at the end of the mattress in front of him while he slid his incredibly thick, flexible tongue in and out of her core, stroking her in all the right ways and shaking her to her very soul.

She couldn’t even keep her eyes open, much less keep control of the shaking of her knees or hold down the volume of her moans; she was sure the neighbors could hear her at this point, as he curled the tip of his tongue within her yet again and her eyes rolled back in her head, her toes curling and her fingers pulling at the sheets and her voice breaking at the edge of yet _another_ orgasm (gods… what was this one… she had lost track…), but it was with numb confusion that she felt him slide his tongue from inside her, his fingers rubbing slick against her clit yet to bring her to her end.

His mouth pressed instead to her lower back, sweat dappled and bare; she trembled under his ministrations, the turgid length of him standing taut against her inner thigh, and clenched like never before in glorious waves of near orgasm at the sound of his voice, rumbling through her body from above.

“cum, frisk… cum for me...”

She needed no further command. The rough bone of his knuckles, lubed with her juices and his saliva, ripped her end from her without fanfare or begrudgement; she shook and wailed, trembling on her weakened knees and bucking back against him in the instinctual need to be filled (how could she still want more…), before she, energy draining from her, collapsed onto her side below him, her breasts bouncing and her gaze rising to meet his, still bright with the need they both felt.

Just looking at the hand he was running along his cock, the drips of magic leaking from its head, sent the flame of desire roaring back through her blood, but when she attempted to roll onto her back, hopeful of him finally sinking it into her again (he had been teasing her for far, _far_ too long… she needed him…), he shook his head, looking over her position with a crooked smile.

“no... stay on your side. just like that,” he suggested, tilting his head, and scooted further over her, lifting one of her thighs into one of his arms and sliding the other between his legs. Excitement flooded her veins, pounding in her lust driven mind and wetting her folds all over again, and he seemed to notice, sending her a knowing look as he hoisted her leg over his shoulder and aligned himself with her entrance.

It was like nirvana, the press of him into her, filling her entirely in a single clean stroke; she choked on her breath at the sheer size of him again, pleasure edged with curiosity (gods… how had he gotten so big… he was only three fourths of the way inside her, there was no way she would ever be able to take it all…), while above her, Sans’ claws bit into her thigh, his skull thrown back and his fangs gritted as he settled himself against her, close as he could get for the best possible angle.

He shifted within her, grinding against her g-spot, and the stars she saw had her clawing at the edge of the mattress, her breath stolen from her entirely.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Sans! Aaaahhhh!” she keened, her toes flexing over his shoulder, and he looked down at her with a satisfied, crooked grin, turning to kiss her knee and caressing her abdomen, up her ribs and to her heavy breasts. He weighed each in his palm, flicking his fingertips across her beaded nipples (she moaned and writhed, still sensitive from her orgasm), before tracing his fingertips up her throat, over her chin to touch her full lips.

And all the while, he circled his hips slowly, pulling his cock in and out of her core slowly, stretching her wide around him.

“yeah, that's better... _fuck_ , you're still grippin' me like a vice, but damn if you didn't get me ready for the long haul. the view is to die for, and the sounds you make when you _cum_...” he purred, popping her lower lip and, with a particularly sly curl to his smile, pushing into her as far as he could go; he relished the way her legs flexed, the moan she let out as he filled her to the max, and raised his brow flirtatiously.

“i wanna hear 'em every day.”

She hadn’t been disappointed by their first time, not by a long shot; he had been so passionate, so pure and so loving, how could she have been? It had been short, and she hadn’t come, that was true, but it had been what she had hoped for from him, and she would have been happy if that was all he had been able to manage.

This, though… she hadn’t been expecting.

Where there had been emotion before there was now animalistic craving, a lust and ardor that was driven by something beyond his desire to be in her life; he was fierce, he was dirty and hard… he was that glimpse of dominance that he had shown her several times during the evening that had sent a thrill through her blood like no one else ever had. 

He owned her body without doubt, positioning her and taking without fear; every motion of his hand brought her pleasure, every sweep of his tongue and press of his cock bliss and ecstasy. His words swept through her like dark fire, consuming and encompassing, until all she knew was him, him and what he had wrought of her.

She was on her hands and knees again when the end finally came, holding onto her headboard for dear life; he was bent over her back, crushing her against the mattress and growling his desires into her ear as he fucked her senseless, and with a humid, shaky laugh, Sans ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, shifting one of his hands up to squeeze one of her breasts.

“you looked like you enjoyed my cum last time... ready for more?” he teased, voice husky in his approaching end, and Frisk, trembling from her own multiple ends, shook on her weak knees beneath him, bucking back into his powerful thrusts and whining in need.

“Yes... _yes_...” she plead, licking her lips and turning her head as best she could to kiss along his jawline, and he grunted out a chuckle in response before clutching at her hip, his thrusts growing obviously shorter and harder.

“want me to pull-” he started to ask, one of his fangs scraping her earlobe as he panted in his approaching climax, but she cut him off hurriedly, raising one of her hands to cover his, holding him in place desperately, her entire body tingling at the thought, the need, the sudden _craving_...

“ _No_! Inside... **please**...” she begged, her mouth dry and her legs shaking, and his breath froze for a second, a short, bare second, before he exhaled, she felt him grin against the side of her face, and felt his arm, thick and scarred, wrap all the way around her waist, holding her tight against him while he _hammered_ his cock into her, once, twice, three more times, before the end came, the shuddering jolt of heat spilling into her that she knew and loved and gods, she came again just from the feeling of him cumming inside her, it was heaven itself-

“fuck, frisk... fuuuuuck... yeah, take it aa-allll, _hnggg_...”

His voice in her ear, his pleasure, it was everything she had wanted out of this; she could feel it spilling out of her and onto the sheets, but she didn’t care, not with the melody of his moans vibrating against her back, the bite of his claws into her hips, the heat of his breath on her skin and his seed in her belly.

“Sans, _**yes**_ , oh my _god_ …”

It would be some time before he settled enough to pull from her, and move them both away from the mess he had made to rest; she was practically boneless, after all the orgasms he had put her through, but he didn’t seem to mind rearranging her in his arms, playing with her hair and stroking his claws along her sweaty back.

She could move her head just enough to kiss his jaw, and see his shit eating grin.

“heh... didn't know you were into dirty talk.”

She snorted, blowing a hank of hair out of her face when he dropped it there on purpose, and raised a hand tiredly to poke him in a rib.

“I didn't know you were so good at dishing it.”

He shrugged one shoulder, then dropped it and looked her over with worry, his smile fading at the sight of the faint bruises on her hips, the scrapes from his bones and claws and fangs.

“...you alright? i know i got a bit... rough.”

Frisk waved his disquiet away with a roll of her eyes, a small smile, and a hand raised to entwine with one of his, smoothing her thumb over the back of his carpals.

“Little sore, but it'll pass. You?”

He twitched his mouth to one side, rolling the cerulean light in his whole socket and slitting one of his legs between hers to tangle their feet together.

“ha. besides my ego, nothing to complain about.”

Frisk looked concerned at that, shifting her head to look up and meet his gaze.

“But-” she began, but he cut her off, shaking his head and giving her a stern look.

“i know. we're out of practice, go easy on myself... i want to prove i'm better than that. i wanna give you everything you want and more. so let me be hard on myself when it's something i can fix.”

She had to agree with that. She nodded, and scooted a little closer to him, laying her head against his shoulder. He let her, and scooted his arm under her, laying his hand on her waist.

In the light of the rising moon, their necklaces shone both silver and gold, twined together as they drifted into slumber in the early hours of the evening. 

Not yet mated… but something close. 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought, guys~ I'd really like to write this whole story out for everyone one day, it touches my heart dearly.


End file.
